Pop came to the house, and I moved some of my stuff in too. This wasn't going to be easy, but I felt it to be a necessary choice.
Part of the problem was that Pop was affiliated with the Veterans Administration for his medical care. He was a combat-disabled veteran of the Korean War, so his medical care was essentially free of cost to him. While he lived on Long Island, his care was administered through the Northport facility, and a Dr. Mohammed Zarrabi. The care afforded him there was top-notch, but the facility was far from us.
We arranged for a transfer of his care to a more local place, the VA Hospital in East Orange, NJ. I'm sad to say that this hospital left much to be desired. The staff was eons away from Northport's level of humanity. It was more like a Motor Vehicle Bureau; the staff was expertly trained in the techniques of ignoring people. After one consultation, I was certain that I could not subject Pop to this sort of treatment. He and I made a mutual agreement to continue his care at Northport. It would mean a lot of driving, appointments were at the least, weekly. Sometimes more. Emergencies would mean that I'd have to stay on Long Island while he was admitted. But it was all much better than what might have taken place at East Orange.
In the meantime, I'd begun my job search in earnest. I registered at such sites as Monster.com and TheLadders.com. I thought my credentials meant that it would simply be a matter of time before I was gainfully employed.